


jungle of your heart

by softshocks



Category: Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, designated stripper au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 07:18:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9808913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softshocks/pseuds/softshocks
Summary: Betty’s just trying to make ends meet.





	

**Author's Note:**

> IT’S THE DESIGNATED STRIPPER AU!!! I love being welcomed back to the western tv side of the internet by a queerbait pairing. Yessss. Hurt me some more. YESSSSS.
> 
> Title from Panama’s [Jungle](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T1m0mceKkx4) and chapter titles from Buddy Wakefield’s Hurling Crowbirds at Mockingbars
> 
> For Romy. I loff you. This is for listening to all my hoe adventures.
> 
> And Emilia, for listening to me yell about this and yelling at me back.
> 
> And Izzy, who helped me make this thing concrete at Jollibee, on Valentine’s day.

Her mother tells her never to come home again when she finds out that Betty has been seeing her sister on weekends, when she finds out Betty has been skipping classes to visit her sister at the group home. 

“I don’t want to see your face ever again,”  her mother tells her. “Don’t even think of showing it here.”

She’d seen it coming. All the things she’d done that displeased her mother grew exponentially, one entire dog-pile that never stopped growing. Her mom has said these before but now Betty knows she means it, Betty knows the dam is broken.

Betty should be crying, but she isn’t.

Partly because she’d done the things to displease her mother on purpose.

Partly because freedom settles deep into her bones when her mother hangs up, knowing that she is barely her mother’s daughter now.

Betty should cry, but she doesn’t.

  

The next morning, her bank account where Betty receives her monthly allowance has a balance of $0. _Uh oh._

It’s also the end of the semester and Betty’s got a few classes during summer to get a headstart before junior year.

“Kevin,” she says, eyes never leaving her phone. “I’m broke.”

His eyes grow wide. Betty is never broke. “Well suck on Liberace’s dick,” Kevin mutters, moving closer to Betty. “She really did it, didn’t she? Alice really did it.”

“I guess so.” All Betty can do is shrug. She’s too tired to honestly even care, the agonists she’s already making her entire body heavy with sleep. It’s such Alice’s thing to pull out funds from her and let her starve. She did it with Polly, and Betty is no exception.

“What’re you gonna do then?” Kevin settles beside Betty on her bed, the mattress dipping.

She nibbles on her bottom lip. “Get a job. Pay for my tuition and my rent here.”

He gives her a disbelieving arch of a brow. “You’re crazy if you think that there will be one that pays that much in such a short time. Have you considered a financial aid?”

“That needs parental consent and I don’t really want to explain this whole ordeal to the board members of the university.”

Kevin points out it’s a good sob-story but Betty’s life has been one massive sob-story, and this should be nothing.

If she was going to get herself through college, she’d do it without pity from other people.

Her best friend holds his hands up in defeat. “What are you planning then? Got a job in mind?”

“Not really,” sighs Betty. “I should ask Valerie.” She takes out her phone, locates Valerie’s number and calls. “Hi, Val.”

It’s loud in the background on the other end of the line and Betty assumes Valerie just came from a live set at some underground bar. _“Hey, girl! How can I help ya?”_

She decides to come clean with it. “I need a job. Something that can pay me fast. And a lot.”

There’s silence from Valerie, Betty assumes she wants to ask why _the_ Betty Cooper would need any financial help when her family is known to be quite well off. She doesn’t, though, only says: _“Yeah, I know one. I’m… I’m not sure if you’re going to like it.”_

Kevin mouths: _prostitution?_

“Not prostitution, I hope,” Betty follows up and Josie chuckles.

 _“Nah, baby girl. I mean… not necessarily prostitution_. _”_

Kevin mouths: _stripper?_

Betty’s stomach drops, hopes that’s not what Valerie’s about to say until: _“Can you dance well, Betty?_ ”

One: She can.

Two: She needs the money.

Three: Betty asks for details and sends over her CV, later on.

 

-

 

Her tears come five days late, when Polly calls her up and asks how she’s doing.

 _“What’s up, kiddo?”_ Polly asks, brighter than usual. One of her happy days, she guesses and Betty’s not about to ruin that.

She talks about class, the chipmunk on her window that day - nothing of their mother pulling out a rug under her and taking all her funds for tuition and allowance. None of that, though it’s starting to tug dangerously and painfully at her heart, like it was being clawed right out of her chest.

The call ends when Polly has to go and Betty misses her sister, misses her so much - misses seeing her and embracing her but Betty knows that if she does, Alice might do something horrible to Polly.

Then Betty cries, for two hours straight.

 

-

 

It’s Kevin who comes with her when they pick out something to wear for her job interview, which is _just a dance in front of the owner of River’s Edge._ Penelope Blossom is the mother of one of New York’s socialites Cheryl Blossom, and prides herself for owning the most prestigious strip club in the city.

 _They take care of their girls_ , Josie had said. They pay them generously, too. The place is far from seedy and sketchy; it looks pristine with its marble tiles and golden arches and deep red and violet lights - from the pictures, anyway, though Josie reassures Betty that it looked even better in real life, having worked there for some time.

She was paid generously, by customers who abide by the club rules. Not to mention it was far too expensive for anyone she knows to see her.

Betty selects the sleek black suit with a deep v that ends just a few inches above her navel. It’s a one piece, with shorts to cover the top of her legs. She has some party heels at home which she can use and fishnet stockings, care of Kevin, as well as the suit.

(“Don’t ask how I got them,” he pointedly tells her.

“Wasn’t about to,” Betty replies, inspecting the garment. “I’ll pay for the black suit of death when I get the job.”

“I think the fuck not, Betty Cooper. Consider it a gift.”

Had it been anyone else, Betty would have protested but this is Kevin, her best friend in the whole wide world.)

She practices her routine once she returns to her dorm. An old routine, one from her and Kevin’s summer gigs in the past - striptease dancing because _it was good cardio,_ or so Kevin claimed.

“Try a little harder to be sexier,” he tells her. Betty hadn’t needed to say she was open to constructive criticism, but Kevin unwarrantedly criticizes everything. “You know, try _smizing_ when you dip down to the chair.”

She drops her weight on the chair, pausing the music. Two hours of provocative dancing everyday should be doing wonderful things to Betty’s thighs, despite feeling like they’re on fire. “I never really got what Tyra means when she says that.”

“Okay, this is what you look like when you don’t smize while dancing.” He makes a face. “But this is what you _should_ look like when you smize while dancing.” He makes the same face. Betty chucks a pillow at his direction, and Kevin whines but he’s smiling.

Silence blankets over them, worry settling into Betty’s stomach once more but her best friend catches onto it quite well. “You’ll do fine, Betts. Don’t worry.”

“How am I going to pass a strip club if I couldn’t even get into the cheerleading team?” This has been bugging her for the past days, wondering how the _hell_ she’ll get into an elite strip club.

“Well, for one, cheerdancing and striptease are two separate entities. The elements of dance for cheering and stripping are very different, darling,” Kevin explains. “You can be good at one and not the other, but that’s not to say you can’t be good at both.”

Betty pouts. Why couldn’t she be good at both? She clutches the edge of the seat. She _can_ be good at both.

She’s about to tell Kevin so, but he plays the music once more, the beat filling the room before pulling her up from her sitting position. “Come now, let’s see how good you’ll look if you smize while stripping to Zayn’s best song from _Mind of Mine_.”

 

-

 

“You’ll be fine?” Kevin asks, when he drops her off at the River’s Edge. Betty kisses him on the cheek and nods, shakily at that. Tightens her hold on the strap of her gym bag. Betty wants to run, but she needs this. Needs this job asap.

“Okay,” Kevin says, offering her a smile that gives her a boost of strength and support. Her best friend has been nothing but supportive to her throughout all this and Betty loves him very much. “Call after, yeah?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Kev,” is all Betty can say before she enters the club and tells the security she’s there for an audition. “I think I’ll do well.”

 

“Betty Cooper?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Her leg shakes, sneaker making the smallest of sounds on the marble floor. She confirms that she is nineteen, in college but is able to squeeze her shifts in between, having a late start in the morning.

Penelope Blossom, a woman with bright red hair, who held herself in such a way that Betty feared her - back straight, chin up, dressed in what probably cost more than her entire college tuition, scribbles down a clipboard, then clicks the pen closed. “Tell me about your dance career.”

She does. Eight years a gymnast, four years contemporary. Penelope looks impressed. She does, however, set down her clipboard - looking at Betty for the first time in the past ten minutes. Betty’s hands shake even more. “Why are you here, Betty Cooper?”

“I want to work here.”

Penelope scoffs, crossing her arms. She kicks herself mentally, knowing how she probably didn’t want to hear that from applicants.  “Valerie mentioned you needing quick cash.”

Betty averts her eyes. She _can’t_ lie about that. She expects being told that stripping is an art, that this institution expecting no less. However: “You got the job.”

She takes a few steps forward. “What? I haven’t even danced yet.”

“You don’t need to.” Penelope says, seemingly uninterested. “I expect you on Thursday, and a special number for your debut on the Thursday after that. You should probably come up with your own stage name.”

“But—” Betty’s fingers curl into a fist. Penelope had barely looked at her.

“Should you have any inquiries, don’t hesitate to call—”

“ _No.”_ Betty says firmly, loudly, enough for it to echo throughout the room, shattering the deafening silence like a thunderclap. She stands her ground, despite Penelope’s eyebrows shooting to her hairline. She stands her ground, even if she didn’t expect this outburst. “I had a routine to show you. Let me. I can do it.”

Penelope looks surprised, though not displeased and Betty almost kicks herself for it until the woman smiles slightly, nodding. “Valerie didn’t mention you had a feisty side. Alright. Come with me.”

 

The stage is vast, lush maroon curtains framing it. Its floorboards were a shade that resembled gold and it was, indeed, a prestigious club.

Lights were dim yet Betty can see the individual tables and chairs around the venue, black leather couches filed neatly around the audience area. There are private booths up north, on the second floor while the bar is located in the far middle of the venue.

“It’s very nice, is it not?” Penelope speaks, her heels clicking on the flawless marble floors.

“Yes,” is all Betty can say. Flushes of embarrassment crawl up her cheeks for being caught not paying attention to Penelope but to her their surroundings.

She does not, however, look angry as Betty had imagined her to. Penelope looks pleased, actually, at the starry-eyed expression on Betty’s face. “It took such a long time for us to acquire the best furniture but, behold. The fruit of our labor.”

There’s a girl named Melody who approaches them, not scantily clad at the moment unlike Betty, who has changed into the outfit she and Kevin picked out. _Possibly because it’s not open hours yet_ , Betty thinks though when the girl asks for the flash drive from Betty containing her song, she must work at the tech booth.

There’s a chair in the middle of the stage for her routine, like Betty requested. She climbs up the steps, her palms sweating and her heart jumping up to her throat. The lights on the stage slowly fade into life, not bright enough to scare Betty but enough to see Penelope near the stage, observant and amused at Betty, who had been eager to prove herself. Who _is_ eager to prove herself.

She’s not about to receive a job out of pity. It’s either she works for it or she doesn’t.

Penelope retires to one of the chairs, crossing her legs. “Well? The stage is yours.”

Betty sits astride the chair.

She looks at Melody from the tech booth on the second floor, nods and the music plays.

Then Betty dances.

 

Her breathing is labored when it’s over, Betty back to her first position though now she’s sweaty and basking in the rush adrenaline instead of wallowing in nerves like four minutes ago.

The routine was flawless. Betty had not tripped or stumbled in any part of the dance, executing it with precision. She tries to smize though, having practiced with Kevin and she _thinks_ she did as well as she can in that department.

She did really well. Betty thinks she deserves something, to reward herself, later on.

Slow claps emerge from the audience, the lights in the audience crossfading into life. Betty is ushered back into reality despite blood thundering in her ears. “Brava, brava,” Penelope says, amusement dancing in her eyes. She looks genuinely impressed and Betty makes a tiny, mental fist pump. “I see no reason to alter my decision, Miss Cooper. Well done.”

“Thank you, ma’am—”

Penelope holds up one hand. “Please, call me Penelope.”

“—Penelope. Thank you.”

Penelope nods and hands Betty her jacket. “And, like I said, you have a debut performance next Thursday. You may use your audition piece. Drop by Wednesday so Josie can introduce you to how things work around here. I’ll be emailing you all the papers regarding confidentiality for both parties and benefits of working here. You should reply with your stage name so we can introduce you to the audience properly, next week.”

Betty’s at loss for words, buzzing pleasantly with accomplishment for receiving this job - half excited and half nervous. “Do I have to—”

“No, no private shows until your debut.” Penelope says quickly, and Betty lets out a nervous puff of air. “Until your debut, you’ll only be serving drinks with a mask. It’s tradition. If you’re worried about pay, you get paid for even serving drinks by the hour.”

Betty _had_ been worried. The remaining funds for her allowance will only be enough until Thursday, but she’s glad she’s fallen back on something.

Penelope places a hand on her shoulder, heavy with rings though it feels maternal, to an extent.

An ache deep inside Betty echoes, though she ignores it.

“Welcome to the River’s Edge, Betty Cooper.”

 

-

 

**Betty Boop [11:30:45 PM]**

Hey

 

**Betty Boop [11:30:47 PM]**

I got the job

 

**Betty Boop [11:30:47 PM]**

I’m a stripper now, I guess

 

 

**KevinGaga [11:31:50 PM]**

I TOLD YOU THOSE STRIPTEASE CLASSES WOULD BE USEFUL!

 

-

 

“ _How’s school?_ ”

Betty shrugs. “The usual. I’ve got three analyses due next Friday but I’ve finished two already.”

“ _I’m not surprised,_ ” Polly laughs. “ _You always wanted to be ahead. What’re the stories?_ ”

Betty caps her light blue highlighter, switching the landline handset to her other shoulder. “Two are indigenous literature for the same class and one is a Sylvia Plath analysis for contemporary poetry.”

“ _Ooh, interesting. Tell me about it?”_

She misses her sister who is halfway across the country. And she tells her all about it, despite tomorrow’s early morning tennis match with Kevin and Reggie, and meeting with a girl named Josie at the River’s Edge in the afternoon, after her class.

 

-

 

**From: penelope@TRE.com**

**To: bettycooper25@gmail.com**

**Subject: Attachments**

 

Betty,

 

Attached below are the terms and conditions, confidentiality agreements, bank account details and some FAQs, if you’re interested.

Reply with your stage name as acknowledgment.

See you on Thursday. The girls know there will be an addition and are eager to meet you.

 

Penelope Blossom

The River’s Edge

6156680000

3629 Upper East Side, New York, New York, USA.

 

-

 

Josie wasn’t kidding when she said the girls are taken care of, very much so, at the River’s Edge.

Betty will soon have health care benefits from good hospitals in New York and a secure bank account for her payroll. A flexible schedule is under her control also, only having four days of required work and a maximum amount of hours outside mandatory attendance.

 _Your security and safety inside the club is our priority_ , the pdf read. Certain policies like the girls cannot be touched unless given consent, most especially during private shows. The employees are highly discouraged but not prohibited to have a sexual relationship with clients, so long as it is consensual and practicing safe intercourse. It is, however, to the discretion of the employee and the client. Betty reads through it, though she cringes at the idea of sleeping with a benefactor. That’s where she draws the line.

The identities of their employees _and_ clients are also a priority. Betty assumes there are public figures who come to the club, which is where the confidentiality agreement comes in. She reads it, doesn’t find anything suspicious about it after hours of reading the fine print, then prints and signs.

 _The River’s Edge isn’t too shabby,_ Betty texts Kevin with a tiny giggle.

He replies a few moments later, when Betty’s filing the papers into a manila folder. _You kiddin me? You think they’ll treat you like crap when it’s a top-paying club? I don’t think so._  

She nearly forgets about her stage name and spends approximately fifteen minutes thinking. _Elizabeth_ is nice, but too long. Her mother used to call her _Liz_ , so that’s definitely not on the table. Beth was… a very beautiful name, but it just didn’t resonate within her, like how she knows choosing a name should be like.

Then it hits her. She sprints to her laptop and quickly types a response to Penelope.

_Eliza._

Penelope replies, a few seconds later with a short but sweet, _perfect._

 

-

 

The bouncer recognizes her, the second time Betty comes to the club. His name is Max, Betty finds out later on. Initially, his intimidating posture and hulking body had scared Betty, though when he welcomes Betty inside with a small smile, it isn’t as bad as she thought.

She clutches her bag tighter closer to her chest as a girl with curly brown hair approaches her. “Betty Cooper?”

“That’s me,” Betty says, bouncing on her the balls of her feet nervously.

Valerie smiles brightly despite the dim lights of the setting. “Hi, darling. Welcome to the River’s Edge. I’m Josie but you know that already.”

Betty only nods. Josie is exceptionally pretty, even in the dim light of the club and Betty almost chokes on her own spit when the other girl slips an arm around Betty’s and leads her backstage. “Ready for your tour, baby girl?”

“Am I ever,” Betty mumbles and Josie chuckles in response, picking up on Betty’s nerves.

“Don’t worry, hon, we’re all friendly here.” The hallways, even backstage, are pristine and elegant just like the rest of the establishment. Paintings by various artists line its walls, to doors that, Josie explains, open to the dressing rooms of their employees. “So where’d you come from?”

“I’m from this town called Riverdale but I came here for college.” Betty explains, as they near her dressing room. “It… hasn’t been easy. So, uh, now I’m here.”

She leaves it at that, no sob story and no pity comes from Josie’s eyes, only concern and absolute warmth. Josie doesn’t ask further. “Well, I do hope the River’s Edge helps you with that, whatever it is. It takes a great deal of courage to come here instead of getting a regular job.”

“Yeah, I think so too.” Betty says, in all honesty. “What about you?”

Josie smiles, a very pretty one. “Born and raised in New York, baby. Came here for a job ‘cuz being a striptease instructor just wasn’t cutting it. Stayed five years for the pay and now I’m this joint’s baby.”

“Ah, you love it,” Betty nods and grins. “I’m glad you do.”

“Yeah, but you’re not expected to feel the same, Betty.” They stop walking in front of a black door, the wood lacquered to perfection and Betty notices _Eliza_ written on it, under Josie’s name. The other girl tells her they’ll be roommates in the dressing room, and that she’ll be meeting the other girls very soon, who were hanging out by the bar when she and Josie get there.

They’re all beautiful—the women, there. Betty stands, at loss for words because if Josie was already beautiful, the other girls were, too.

“Girls, we have a new one over here,” Josie grips Betty’s shoulders. “Everyone, this is Betty. Or Eliza, tomorrow night. That’s Wendy, Charlotte or _Charlie_ , Charlemagne or _Maine_ , and Diane or _Dee_. They’re one third of the girls for the MWF schedule.”

They all watch her, and Betty wants to shrink but they approach her and give Betty warm hugs and kisses, welcoming her to the club.

“Aren’t you gonna introduce me to this fine young lady, Jo?” A boy calls out from behind the bar counter.

Josie rolls her eyes. “That’s Reggie. He’s a piece of crap and our bartender.”

“Hi,” Betty greets though that’s that. She doesn’t like Reggie’s face, nor the way he smiles at her so Betty chooses not to look in his direction.

Charlemagne walks closer to her in all her tall and blonde glory and squeezes her arm. “You ready for your big debut, sweetie? It’s a rite of passage for all of us.”

She nods, swallowing the lump in her throat. She’s been polishing her audition piece every night. “I think so.” She can be more amiable than this, stuttering and sweaty around women who are leaner a head taller and Betty is.

“Isn’t she supposed to wear that mask or something, before she debuts?” Diane asks. “Do we all wear the same mask or nah?”

“We do! Though it is also part of the tradition to actually not see the mask until five minutes before being deployed to the audience,” Josie explains and the girls nod, remembering. Betty assumes it’s been quite some time since their auditions and her stomach drops, being in the midst of established strippers while her experience is absolutely 0.

Her phone vibrates and it’s an alarm to remind her she has to drop by the pharmacy before she heads to uni to submit the paper she’s been working on since last night, despite being due on Friday. “Hey, I’ve gotta dash,” Betty says, tucking her phone back into her pocket. “It’s been wonderful to meet all of you. Thanks for showing me around, Josie.”

Josie squeezes her shoulder reassuringly. “No problem, Eliza. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

-

 

“ _Aaaaa_ nd, there we go.” Kevin steps away to marvel at his creation, and so that Betty can see what she looks like, in her desk mirror

She’s barely recognizable, and Betty thinks it looks great - the contours and heavy makeup putting sharp edges in her soft feature that really come off as bland, to Betty and to other people. Her lips are a dark shade of red that her mother would have a heart attack at and her cheekbones are so sharp, accentuated by the glittery highlights that Kevin had placed there.

“I swear on Gagaloo’s unicorn, you look _fine_ as all hell. If I were straight—”

Betty laughs, flattered by her best friend’s remark. “Kevin, please _don’t_.”

Her best friend holds his hands up in defeat and mock offense. “Just saying. You look good for an exotic waitress for your first day. Remind me to up your makeup ten notches up for your debut.”

“Thanks anyway,” Betty ducks her head. It’s rare Kevin compliments her like this, and it had been Kevin who told her the whole makeup contouring doesn’t fit her aura which was true, to an extent. She hadn’t fallen for the whole makeup craze because it just didn’t… sit well with her face.

 _Bland Betty Cooper_ , her mind prodded at her every time she’d see girls do their makeup.

The Betty Cooper in front of her now, though, is unrecognizable. Not _bland_ Betty Cooper, not _shy, small town girl in a big city_ Betty Cooper.

The Betty Cooper that sits in front of her is the one that’ll get her out of this financial mess.

The one that her mother would probably hate the most.

Betty loves it.

 

“Well aren’t you a tall glass of water,” Josie drawls when Betty steps away from the folding screen, in the same suit she’d worn in. “You look good, Cooper.”

An embarrassed flush crawls up her face and Betty looks down at her outfit, looking severely underdressed compared to Josie’s expensive lingerie, lace with floral patterns. “Ah, not really,” Betty says. “ _You_ look good, though.”

“Hell I know I do,” Josie laughs and does a little turn to show off what she’s wearing. “Didn’t spend over a hundred dollars on this baby to look bad.”

There’s a small box on Josie’s desk, its lock she flicks and she lifts the lid open to reveal a matte black mask that’s similar to Anne Hathaway’s mask in _The Dark Knight Rises_ , sans the cat ears. “Here. To welcome you formally _and_ pique everyone else’s interest in you.”

Betty takes it, runs her fingertips over the texture of the mask. It stares back at her in defiance, as if it’s taunting her that there is no turning back now.

There truly wasn’t. When she had decided to skip class and travel two hours to see Polly three days a week, she knew there was no turning back.

She places the mask on her face then ties the ribbon tightly at the back of her head.

“Your first customer will be the one to remove that, after your debut,” Josie tells her, with a wide eyed sort of amusement, obviously pleased with Betty’s determination. She offers her arm, like the first time Betty met her. “Showtime?”

Betty, like the first time, takes it.

 

The heavy beat of the music reverberates through Betty’s body, passing through her bones and making the hairs on her skin stand and vibrate. She’s warm, warm from the stares she gathers from the customers, both men and women dressed in designer clothing, intrigued by the new blonde girl in the mask, going around and serving drinks.

She doesn’t speak to any customer, as Josie instructed, though they do ask her name from the other girls that Betty eventually meets. Tuesday-Thursday shifts are with Aiko, Jenny, Gabby, Inna, Hanna, Reese, Michelle and Pauline.

 _Her name’s Eliza_ , they tell the curious benefactors. Betty smiles at them, setting martinis on the table. Small and sickeningly sweet, and it works like magic.

 

Most of the girls are by the bar, gushing about how Betty has the entire club wrapped around her finger, and Betty can only giggle though it’s doing wonderful things to her self-esteem, if she were being honest. She honestly hadn’t thought of herself as an extremely sexual being, and seeing how the benefactors react to her - well. It’s very nice, to say the least.

The heavy red and violet lights hide her blush so Betty doesn’t fight it. “I wonder who the lucky customer that’ll take that mask off you will be,” Gabby muses. “I haven’t seen mine in a few months. Maybe he’s busy.”

Inna pushes herself off the counter. “ _Aaand_ mine arrived just now. See you girls later, yeah.”

Aiko looks around, craning her long neck and scanning the crowd. “Speaking of arriving, I wonder where Lodge is.” The other girls turn their heads, following suit in looking.

“Who’s Lodge?” Betty asks when they all turn back, waiting for Reggie to finish mixing drinks.

“Our finest benefactor, I think,” Reese giggles. The girls agree with her. “Still hasn’t availed of a private show but we’re all trying to grapple for the honor of being the one Lodge chooses.”

Pauline shakes her fist. “One day, I’ll dance on your lap, Lodge.”

Betty’s about to ask more, but Reggie places some drinks on her tray but not without a wink that Betty rolls her eyes at. She still attracts stares from the club’s customers, as she makes her way to the table to lower drinks on it. Betty holds her chin up, thinks of her mother would absolutely hate this - hate her - and she holds it up some more.

Aiko bumps into her with eagerness brimming at her eyes by the time she’s back at the bar, waiting for more drinks for Reggie to place on her tray. It’s easier, now, to revel in the stares she’s attracting. “She’s here.”

“Who?” Betty asks, raising an eyebrow. “Penelope.”

“No, silly,” Aiko responds, eyes looking to the right to direct Betty’s attention there. “Lodge.”

Betty follows, looks and sees -

She’s beautiful, in a sleek black dress and pearls. Her hair falls just below her shoulders, and _goodness,_ she’s gorgeous.

The _Lodge_ everyone was talking about is a _woman_.

Betty had imagined a handsome young man in a crisp suit or an old, balding man suffering a midlife crisis, finding solitude at the River’s Edge. Nothing like the woman that’s walking to take a seat near the exit after being ushered inside by Max.

Then the woman looks around the club, seemingly looking for a girl to attend to her, and -

Betty nearly chokes on air when Lodge’s eyes halt their sweep and land squarely on her. Piercing, painful and warm and if Betty hadn’t cared about piquing the interests of other benefactors, she most definitely does now.

Aiko looks back, follows the trail of Betty’s eyesight, back to Lodge. She turns back to give Betty a sly smile with narrow eyes. “Ooh, it seems like _someone’s t_ aken with you,” Aiko mumbles laughingly. “What are you waiting for?”

“I—”

The other girl sends Betty off with a short tap to the ass and Betty lets out a small yelp, though her eyes are still trained on the woman. “Go get her, Eliza. Veronica Lodge is yours.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Betty dances to [Drunk](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1B60UiX8z0Y) by Zayn!
> 
> I’m working steadily on this but I more or less have an idea where I want to take it. Sorry for the lack of Veronica in this chap but she’ll surely be in the future chapters!!!
> 
> Also, if you see any reason to point anything out, just leave a comment and I’ll fix it. Thanks for reading, stick around :D


End file.
